Game of Life
by scarylolita
Summary: Seven years ago Eric Cartman abused his mayoral power and his victims are still dealing with the fallout. Kyle now works at the crisis center, helping others when he can't help himself. When the law allows Craig to get away with murder, he begins to punish himself. Meanwhile, Kenny is leaving prison, ready to be a free man for the first time in years. Sequel to Memento.


**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**This is a sequel-ish to Memento (before the epilogue and then after the epilogue), though this can be read and _mostly _understood without reading that fic. I wanted to write about what happened in the seven years between the story and the epilogue/what happened with Craig and Kenny after the prison time.**

* * *

**1. January **

My name is Kenny McCormick. I'm 29 years old and I just got out of prison. It's funny, really. I was in there for seven years. Seven years of my life – flushed down the toilet like shit. Boom! Just like that. It doesn't seem all that fair. Fucking kiddie diddlers get less time than I got. How does that make a damn lick of sense? Well, it doesn't, let me tell you. But I finally understand where the government's priorities lie… and it's definitely not with the people.

It was shit in here. Every time I went to see my assigned prison counsellor, he'd ask me if anyone tried to fuck me yet. I think he thought it was funny. I wasn't going to narc, though. I wasn't going to get my ass into something it couldn't handle. Surprise anal in the shower was one thing, but I didn't want to give the crazy bastards in there a reason to _really_ hate me. I'm worldly enough to know what's what and the things I didn't know I learned quickly.

Craig came to see me once. _Once_. You see, he's the cop that threw me in here, but Eric is the man who threw me under the bus. He said the McCormicks pushed drugs. The newspapers said it and everyone in this damn town believes it… but I didn't push drugs. Nonetheless, I was taken down for my parent's misdeeds and Eric ran away, leaving everyone in this piss-ant town to deal with all the damage he inflicted when he was mayor. We're still not done dealing with it – especially not Kyle. He has a few DUI's under his belt and a bad case of PTSD, but he's living with his brother now and Ike tries hard to keep a reign on him. I find it ironic that Kyle spends his time working at the crisis hotline when he himself is in crisis. Ike, on the other hand, is now a big time lawyer just like their dad. I find that fitting.

When I leave the prison, I greet the fresh air as a free man for the first time in seven years. Kyle picks me up. He's smiling, but tentative as ever. He's changed over the years. He's lost his way. I guess we all have. "Kyle," I say his name mechanically, feeling hollow.

He softens. "What happened?"

I just shake my head, not wanting to talk about things that are over. "Nothing," I insist.

"You okay?" he asks. He looks older. I notice it each time he'd come to visit. It doesn't show on his skin, but it shows in other ways. It's in his eyes. He sees right through people and thanks to Eric, he's been forced to experience too much. It's in his voice, too. He's quiet, even when he yells. His voice always breaks. He's so soft spoken. I can tell he's still waiting for Eric to come back, even when he should be relieved the brute is gone. I don't want to give him false hope by opening my mouth, but I think it'll happen someday, whenever that may be. I'm just not sure how he'll handle it. Eric will return and excite a whirlwind of emotions in Kyle – good and bad, but ultimately toxic and completely dangerous.

"I'm okay," I say with a shrug, getting into his car.

"Everyone is excited to see you," he tells me as we leave the prison. I don't bother looking back. I won't be missing this shit-hole.

I let out a pathetic laugh. "I feel like everyone has been growing up," I start. "I mean, I'm almost thirty for fuck's sake and I can't even bring myself to act like it. You've all been paying bills and shit… Christ, I've never even had a credit card. I don't know how to do taxes."

"I'll show you," Kyle offers gingerly.

I stare intently out the window, trying not to make myself upset but it's hard. It's too fucking hard. I'm trying to enjoy the fact that I finally have my freedom back but I don't feel any different. Too much has already been taken away. My dignity is gone. I'm pretty sure that flew out the door when I got strip searched for the first time. The rest felt like a bad dream. You hear about the bad shit happening in prison, but it's a hell of a lot different when it's happening to you and you're living it and you're in that fucking moment wishing you weren't… Christ. Sometimes I wonder if it'll ever _truly_ be over.

"It's funny…" I murmur. "While you've all been out here in the real world, I've been locked away. Fuck, it feels like some bad dream. I wish I'd just wake up and be a teenager again. I'd try to do better… I'd make better choices. I'd leave at eighteen instead of bumming off my crack-head parents. Then maybe I wouldn't've been blamed for all the shit they did."

"You didn't do anything wrong, Kenny," Kyle gently assures me.

"I must've done _something_ wrong," I try to reason with myself. "If I'm such a good fucking person, then why'd I end up in prison?"

Kyle shudders. "Sometimes bad things happen to good people," he whispers weakly. "At least… that's what I tell myself."

"Damn," I mutter. "I'm sorry… I forgot. I'm too wrapped up in my own bullshit."

He forces a smile and shakes his head. "Don't be silly, Kenny. You just got out of prison. You're allowed to be angry. Everything you feel is perfectly valid."

I let out a breath. "How are you?" I ask him.

He smiles again. He smiles too much. I used to think there wasn't such a thing, but Kyle's smiles are different. He doesn't smile because he's happy. He smiles because he's sad and everything hurts too much and it's killing him. "Awful," he admits after a brief silence.

"Is Ike taking care of you?" I question.

He laughs bitterly. "Yes… _Everyone_ is taking care of me. Everyone feels like they have to take care of me because I've been the victim of such a _heinous crime_," he says the last two words in a mocking tone before letting out a scoff and shaking his head.

"You were," I tell him.

"So were you," he murmurs. "We all got screwed by Eric… some literally and some figuratively."

"Well, my ass is used to it by now," I say with an ugly laugh.

We drive to the apartment Kyle shares with Ike. I'll be crashing on their sofa until I can stand on my own two feet. It'll be hard. Everyone knows the McCormick name and nobody is going to want to hire a felon.

Inside, everything is tidy. "Feels good to be back in here," I say, sighing. Stan lived here with Kyle. He moved out after marrying Wendy. Nobody trusted Kyle to live alone, so when Ike finished his degree he scurried back to South Park to be with his brother.

"Everyone wanted to throw you a party," Kyle starts. "I told them that was stupid and they were being ridiculous."

"Yeah," I scoff. I don't think I'll ever be in the partying mood again as long as I live.

"Nonetheless," he continues, "everyone wants to see you."

"Everyone?" I pry.

"Yes, even Craig," Kyle says knowingly. "It's eating at him."

"Good," I murmur sourly. I've been putting off forgiving Craig. Mostly because he only came to see me once and he didn't stay long. Kyle forced him to come. He left after a minute. I get so fucking angry when I think about it, but then I try to be reasonable. Craig did what he had to do. He was a cop and I was a criminal, or so he thought.

"I don't know if I told you," Kyle adds, "but when Craig ran out of the visiting room I found him in the parking lot crying."

I raise an eyebrow at that. "You didn't tell me that… Why was he crying?" To be frank, I can't even imagine it happening. The Craig I was used to… the Craig that threw me in jail was a pretty cold guy.

"Like I said… it's eating at him," Kyle says. "He killed a kid when he was fourteen and now everyone knows it… Plus, he helped take away seven years of your life… it's understandable."

"I still can't believe that," I murmur. My old pal Craig Tucker – a killer. This is some _Boy A_ shit. "Hey, does he know I'm getting out?"

Kyle shakes his head. "I haven't seen him lately. No one has. He's kind of a shut in these days. I saw him in December and told him you were getting out this year, but that's it. You should go surprise him."

"He hates surprises," I murmur, recalling the Craig Tucker I used to know before things got hard – the little asshole kid I would sneak into bars with as a teenager. We were so close, but things changed as we got older. I don't think we'll ever be able to return to where we were as kids because that's just it, isn't it? We're not kids anymore. We're men – men who have made too many stupid fucking mistakes and now we're all knee deep in the kind of shit that makes your stomach churn and ache.

"I have a few of your things…" Kyle starts slowly, gesturing for me to follow him. We enter his room and out from under his bed he grabs a box. When he opens it, I spot some familiar items. "I got them from your house before they seized everything," he explains.

"Shit," I whisper, reaching into the box and pulling out my old, orange parka. Orange was my favorite color until I was forced to don an orange jumpsuit. I fucking hate it now. I don't think I'll ever wear orange again.

**2. February **

I've been living with Kyle and Ike for a nearly month now. I've learned that he has trouble sleeping. I can hear him pacing in his room most nights. It keeps me up – not because it's loud, but because I'm concerned.

I've been running every morning to blow off steam. I've gotten into a habit while in prison and it kind of stuck. I wake up early most mornings and go jogging. It clears my mind.

A couple weeks ago, I went back to Skeeter's bar and begged for my job back. So I am once again working as a bartender because it's all I really know how to do. Sometimes people come in and say, "Hey, are you one of them McCormick kids?" I'll say, "Yeah," and they'll continue to ask me about life in prison. Depending on my mood, I'll either make shit up or tell them to fuck off. It's not really any of their business, is it? Shit like this drives me crazy. Everyone loves a tragedy as long as it's not happening to them. I fucking hate that shit. I fucking hate it.

After finishing an early shift, I walk back to Kyle and Ike's apartment. It's hard to call it my home. I've never really had a home – even growing up. People came and went. Eric was right about one thing – we lived in clusters.

"I'm back," I holler after swinging the door open.

Kyle appears a moment later and smiles at me. "Any plans for the rest of the night?" he asks and I shake my head. "Well, you should go visit Craig," he suggests.

I wrinkle my nose. It's something I've been putting off.

"Closure, right?" Kyle says knowingly. "You both need it."

I let out a sigh. I miss him. Really, I do. So, instead of avoiding it, I decide to finally go and see Craig. After getting his address from Kyle, I make my way back outside. I've been spending a lot of time outside. In prison we were allowed out at scheduled times, but it feels a hell of a lot different doing it as a _free_ man. I am slowly beginning to fall into a cycle of complete and utter normalcy. It's comforting. I think I've been longing for it.

I walk to the opposite side of town until I spot a street of narrow townhouses. When I reach the fifth, I walk up the stairs. The mailbox is overflowing. Kyle must be right – Craig doesn't go out. I grab the mail and stick it under my armpit before knocking. I wait, but there's no answer. This time, I ring the buzzer. Again, there's no answer. In one final attempt, I leave my finger on the buzzer and allow the sound to ring nonstop until the door finally opens.

The man standing in front of me is barely recognizable. He's got glasses sitting on his nose and a lot of stubble. His hair is stringy and clearly hasn't been washed. He's wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt that hangs off his too-slim shoulder. "Craig…?" I ask and his eyes go wide at the sound of my voice, but he doesn't respond with words. To avoid making things tense, I crack a joke. "You smell of somethin'… and it ain't sweet."

"I…" he pauses and clears his throat. "When did you get out?" His voice isn't sarcastic like it used to be. He sounds more timid, almost like Kyle. I find that sad.

"Last month," I tell him, handing him his mail. "I've been settling in… trying to get back into the swing of things. I got my old job back… been living with Kyle and Ike."

"Oh," he says quietly, placing the envelops on the lobby mantle. "Good… that's good…"

"Yeah," I nod a few times. "So… what do you do?"

"I write," he says vaguely.

"Oh, cool…" I nod again. "So, you gonna invite me in?"

"It's… messy," he says.

I shrug. "I don't mind. I _did_ used to live in a crack shack."

He hesitantly opens the door wider, allowing me to step in. I'm immediately greeted with the smell of cigarette smoke and something I can't quite place, but it's unpleasant. "Christ," I say. "The air is thick… you should crack open a window. Fucking hell, it's messy in here." The wallpaper is peeling, the floors are filthy and there is a clutter. It's not quite as bad as my parents' house, but it's bad. In the living room there are mountains of books stacked on the floor and crumpled papers. In the kitchen there are empty shopping bags and stacks of unwashed coffee cups. I don't even want to imagine what the upstairs looks like.

He seems embarrassed. "I told you it was messy…"

"What the hell happened to you?" I ask. "You really let yourself go."

"I killed a kid," Craig murmurs.

"I heard," I say, "but it was an accident, right? Plus, you were only fourteen, so you got charged as a child and you got off scot free."

"I didn't want to," he whispers.

I don't really know what to say to that, so I don't say anything at all. Kyle told me the story once it was out in the open. I was already in prison by then, but I saw him in the newspaper. He had a hand over his face, trying to shy away from the cameras as his lawyer walked next to him. After Eric stopped punishing Craig, Craig decided to finally confess his crime after years of keeping it bottled up inside. That must've been a heavy burden to bear. His trial went swimmingly, much to the dismay of Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, who wanted to see him rot. It stirred something up in me. I had mixed feelings. I felt bad for him, but I was also jealous. He murdered somebody and didn't have to go to prison. I didn't hurt anybody, but I got seven fucking years.

"I'm sorry," he adds weakly. "I'm sorry I arrested you and I'm sorry I didn't care what I was doing to you."

"I forgive you," I tell him genuinely. I think he needs my forgiveness more than anything in the world right now. Filmore Anderson's parents never forgave Craig for killing their son, but I can forgive him for this. I can give him this much and maybe, together, we'll both be able to move on.

This time, I don't stay long. I feel like I'm suffocating. I'm not sure if it's the air in Craig's house of if it's the disappointment I'm feeling. Craig Tucker is strong and this doesn't suit him one bit. Fortunately for him, I can be quite persuasive when I want to be. I'm not going to leave him to rot, even if he feels like he deserves it. Some people deserve to rot, but Craig isn't one of them.

**3. March **

My birthday goes by, but I don't celebrate it. There isn't much to celebrate. I'm thirty years old and I've done absolutely nothing with my life. I refuse to celebrate my life because, in all honesty, my life doesn't mean a whole lot.

Karen called me this morning just to wish me a happy birthday. She didn't stay on the other line for long. I wish she would, but she says she's busy these days. It might be a lie. She might just want to avoid me. The McCormick name is sullied and she probably doesn't want anything to do with us now. I don't really blame her. Me and Kevin are bad seeds. Karen was always better than us.

Instead of birthday festivities, I visit Craig and I clean his house. I think it's a distraction for the both of us. We're not yet ready to talk about the important things. Besides, his house is so filthy it's making me nauseous.

"Why?" Craig asks, following me around the house as I tidy. It's the first word he's said to me all day.

"Because you're more than _this_," I tell him, waving my hands around.

After a long day of scrubbing walls and scrubbing floors and putting shit away, the house looks normal. It's not pretty, but it's modest.

"Why?" Craig asks me again once the house is tidy. It's the second word he's said to me all day.

"Because this suits you a hell of a lot more," I say. "Y'know… they made us clean in prison so I kind of got used to it. Actually, I guess I got pretty good at it."

"Oh," is all he says. That's three words. He's so fucking quiet these days. I hate it. I want to make him scream at me, or cry… anything. I just want a reaction that will leave an impression on me.

I go back to Kyle's house feeling rotten, but I take a page out of his book of lies and keep on smiling. Nonetheless, he knows. I _know_ he knows. So, he sits me down and we watch _The Proposal_ in hopes we might laugh a bit. When Sandra's character reveals, "_I haven't slept with a man in over a year and a half_," I can't help but think about the last time_ I_ slept with a man and how much I didn't want it. There are too many perverse cycles in prison and you're forced to get used to them all, whether you want to or not.

Similar thoughts are probably going through Kyle's head and he lets out a shaky breath. "I haven't touched another person since…" he trails off, but I understand what he means. "Weird. It's been almost seven years."

"He hurt you bad," I reason quietly.

"He didn't used to," Kyle smiles bitterly. "There were times he was sweet and well-tempered. He was gentle when I was sober… I don't remember what he did when I drank."

"Eric was the first person to touch you," I murmur. "Do you want him to be the last?"

Kyle laughs at that before admitting, "No… It's just hard to go out and meet people. Plus, it really puts a damper on things when you're still in love with the person who violated every inch of your inner and outer being. My own body was used against me… I guess it doesn't matter that I haven't seen him in so long, though… because I still feel this way. I guess it's good he ran away. If he didn't, he would've eaten me apart and I would've let him."

"Are you…" I pause, clearing my throat. "Does it still hurt?"

"No," he says before wrinkling his nose and relenting, "Sometimes… Sometimes it kills. In the start, I'd wake up, gasping for breath because I'd feel like I was suffocating when I'd dream about him. Ike would run into my room in a tizzy, but I was always fine."

"There's a difference between _fine_ and _alive_," I remind him.

He smirks. "You don't have to tell me twice, Kenneth McCormick. Take your own advice. When your friends ask you how you're doing, be honest. Don't lie for our sakes, all right?"

"All right," I agree.

After the movie is over, Kyle lets me sleep in his bed like we used to when we were younger. We hold one another as we sleep and it feels nice to be close to someone who isn't going to hurt you.

**4. April **

I fuck Kyle in mid-April. I do it slow and soft like I'm a teenager and it's my first time being with someone. I'm gentle because he's been hurt too many times. He's gentle, because he knows the same about me. He moans and it's nice and I've been starving for this for so fucking long. When he comes, he's loud and a revel in it. When it's over, we laugh. For the first time in a long time, we both laugh. It's a happy sound and as strange as it seems, I feel a little bit better. I think this is something we both needed – a _good_ screw.

"I fucking love you," I tell him after sobering.

He smiles before saying, "And I love you, too."

"You're good in bed," I add with a chuckle

"Likewise," he returns the compliment.

We both know this isn't going to become something more than two friends doing the do. I don't think either of us is ready for that… but I feel like he's the kind of person I could fall for. Nonetheless, I can't allow myself. Besides, Kyle is still in love with the person who killed his spirit. How bitter is that?

**5. May **

I've been growing more social. Kyle's birthday passed. He's not one for celebrating either, so the day was quiet and nobody mentioned that he turned another year older.

I've been going to all of Wendy's movie nights and Kyle always ends up crying. One night, Wendy made us all watch _Never Let Me Go_ and Kyle sobbed throughout the entire ending. Come to think of it… he cries during most movies. He cried during _Toy Story 3, _which we watched with the Marsh kids. He also cried during _The Color Purple, Changling_, _The Notebook_, _Spirited away, The Green Mile, The Boy in the Striped Pajamas, A Walk to Remember_, _Boys Don't Cry, Up_, _Brokeback Mountain_, _Stand By Me_ and even _13 Going on 30_. I'm sure now won't be any different.

"The kids asleep?" I ask as Kyle and I enter their house.

"Yeah," Wendy says fondly. "They have school tomorrow and I want to keep them on a strict schedule."

"Tough mom," I joke and she smiles lightly. "So, what are we watching tonight?"

"_Ghost_," she says. "It's old, but it's good."

"What's it about?" Kyle asks.

"A happy couple who is struck by tragedy," she explains vaguely, putting the DVD into the player.

Kyle frowns. "Prepare for the waterworks, guys."

Stan chuckles, clapping his best friend on the shoulder and we all settle in. Wendy and Stan sit on the love seat while me and Kyle share the sofa. Stan gives Kyle a tissue box when the movie starts and by the end, Kyle's eyes are leaking.

_"The love inside… you take it with you." _

Sam Wheat walks into the light after telling his girlfriend goodbye and the credits roll. Kyle is a hot mess. "Oh, my God," he whispers hoarsely, wide-eyed as he stares at the screen. "That was so sad…"

Stan chuckles sympathetically. "I told Wendy we should watch something funny, but she said no."

"I really love this movie, you guys," she says. "I wanted you all to see it."

"I liked it," Kyle insists, grabbing a tissue blowing his nose. "I like sad movies."

"Can I ask why?" Wendy gently pries.

"Well, why do _you_ like sad movies?" he asks.

"They make me think," Wendy says, "and if I'm feeling down, I usually feel a lot better about my life after watching a sad movie."

Kyle nods. "Crying is cathartic. Recent studies show that sad movies actually make us happy."

"How strange," Stan muses while Wendy just looks thoughtful.

I guess I can understand it, but to be honest I haven't cried in a long time – not since my first year in prison. I don't really want to start now. I feel like if I do, I'll break down the dam I put up in my head and I'll never be able to stop.

We don't stay for long after the movie is over. In the car, Kyle turns to me and frowns. "I lied," he admits.

"About…?"

"Why I like sad movies," he says, turning the car on and pulling out of the Marsh family's driveway.

"Why do you like them?" I ask.

"Crying helps us move on from painful things, some of which we may keep buried… and it's been seven _fucking_ years," he murmurs. "I shouldn't keep crying over it… so when I want to cry I feel like I need a reason to. Sad movies give me a reason to cry."

"Kyle," I say his name quietly, "you don't need permission to cry."

"I'm getting old," he murmurs. "I need to fix myself."

"You will," I say, though I'm not sure. Sometimes, people get so low they never come back up. My parents were like that. Kevin was like that. For fuck's sake, maybe I'm like that, too. I don't care about any of that, though. I just know Kyle deserves more than what life handed him. He deserves to be happy. He deserves to be so, so fucking happy.

But, though I hate to say it, life is a big fucking game and we're all losing. I bet God is laughing at us.

**6. June **

I've been visiting Craig every couple weeks, but he hasn't changed much since our first meeting. He's still hairy and dirty and he looks like a depressed soccer mom, lounging around in a housecoat all day long.

"Craig?" I say his name, standing idly in the narrow hallway. He looks at me, but doesn't respond, so I continue to talk. I say pointless, random things juts for the sake of saying something. "Remember when we were teenagers and we snuck into that bar and an old bearish looking guy approached you and asked if you were a _kept boy_?" I let out a chuckle. "We didn't know we walked into a gay club. We just wanted to get drunk… so you said no and he bought you a drink." Craig ended up knowing exactly what that meant. I, funnily enough, was out of the loop on that one. Craig knew how to play the ropes like a hungry little bastard. There were nights he'd go home with strangers and leave me standing alone. I guess, in a way, Craig has always been punishing himself for things he kept silent about. I never really noticed it until now.

"Mm," he muses softly.

I let out a sigh. "Why won't you talk to me?"

Silence.

"Say something, dammit!" I raise my voice.

"I don't understand you…" he says after a pause. "I knew you were innocent. I knew you didn't do anything to deserve what you were going to be receiving… but I still played bad cop and arrested you. Why are you talking to me?"

"We were friends," I tell him. It seems he's forgotten all the good times and chooses only to remember the bad.

"That was eleven years ago," he murmurs.

"The past isn't always lost," I say.

He scoffs at that.

"Come on," I urge, nodding for him to follow me upstairs. I sit him down in the bathroom and decide to get rid of that awful beard he's got growing.

"Kenny…?" he says my name.

"Sh," I hush him, concentrating carefully as I get rid of his stubble. I've never shaved another dude before. I don't want to accidentally cut his face.

"It should've been me," Craig whispers weakly. "Fuck…"

"Don't think about it anymore," I say gently. Once I'm finished with the razor, I take a face cloth and wipe his cheeks and chin off. He looks a hell of a lot younger and a hell of a lot better looking. "Now we can see that handsome face of yours," I wink at him. "Took years off yah."

Next, I turn to the side and fill up the tub. "You should bathe," I tell him. "Y'know… you might want to get back into the habit of doing it regularly. You smell rank, man."

Craig stares at me for a moment until suddenly starting to cry.

"Wait!" I exclaim. "I'm sorry! I was kidding!"

"Not that!" he shouts at me before pressing the back of his hand to his mouth in an attempt to calm himself down. It doesn't seem to be working.

"Then why're you crying?" I ask.

I sniffs loudly and wipes his eyes frantically. "You're not supposed to act like this!" he continues to shout. "You're not supposed to try and take care of me…!"

"Why?"

"You're not supposed to be nice to the people who did you wrong!" he snaps.

I smile slightly at that. "Don't you remember who I am? I'm Kenny motherfucking McCormick. I do what I want. I do what's right."

"Fuck you," he whispers. "Fuck you and your altruism. It makes me sick."

I feel my smile widen. I finally got the reaction I was waiting for. I feel like things will only get easier from here on. I undress him once the tub is full and he gets inside. I wash him with soap before shampooing his hair and he cries the entire time. I feel like he's probably crying about a lot of things – not just because of me. It's just like he told me… He killed a kid. He took away an innocent life and seven years of mine. Now all he can do is punish himself for the crimes he's committed. "Craig," I say his name as I rinse his hair with the shower nozzle. "You're going to be fine, you know. I'm not sure if that's the right or wrong thing to say. Hell, you might not want to hear it, but it's true. Shit gets bad, but it doesn't stay bad. I'm speaking from experience."

"Why are you doing this?" he asks hoarsely, hugging his knees to his chest.

"I want my friend back," I tell him. "It might sound like an immature sentiment, but fuck it. I miss you."

"That Craig is dead," he murmurs.

"That's fine," I say. "I'm sure I'll like this Craig just fine, too."

**7. July **

By the end of the month, I manage to get Craig to talk a little more about the work he does. Apparently, he writes for an online magazine. He uses an alias and writes about current social issues. I think that's impressive, but he says it's just sad and pathetic. "It's all I _could_ do," he murmurs. "I couldn't handle being a cop anymore… I didn't deserve to be a cop and no one else wanted to hire me. I was the new Hat McCullough – killer of fuckin' babies… So, I found a job I could do online. Now I mind my own business. I get my groceries delivered. I only go out if it's completely necessary."

"Jeez," I mutter.

He smiles cynically and it's the first time I've seen him smile since we were young. It's bitter and insincere and I don't like it one bit. "My house gets egged every so often… the kids around here are just as vile as we were when at that age. They hear rumors about me and it scares them until they actually get a look at me. Then they just laugh because I'm not what they expected."

"What do they expect?" I wonder.

"Probably someone who looks the part," he shrugs. "I mean, I don't really look like I get off on killing kids, do I?"

"No," I murmur. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"What's there to say?" he asks rhetorically. "It's all out in the open. I was fourteen and an asshole. Filmore was pissing me off, so I pushed him. He fell and cracked his skull open. I got scared, so I hid the body."

"Fuck," is all I say.

"Mhm," he agrees, letting out a sigh and staring up at the ceiling. "I hate this god damn house…"

"Why?" I ask. "Because the kids don't give you any peace of mind?"

"Yeah," he admits, "but when they're not harassing me, I'm harassing myself."

I wrinkle my nose at that. "Okay, you know what I think?"

"What?"

"You should put on some nice clothes and let me take you somewhere," I say. "Don't give the kids a reason to laugh at you. Allow yourself to move on."

He pauses and then lets out a snort. "Did you just ask me out?"

"Hmm… yeah, maybe I did," I smile. I know he likes dick from all the times I've seen him suck it firsthand.

"Faggot," he taunts.

I wiggle my eyebrows at him. "So, waddaya say?"

"Smooth," he says lightly. "I'll think about it."

Maybe all Craig needs is for someone to give him a light push in the right direction. Kyle, though a constant presence in Craig's life, is hardly strong enough to dish out the necessary force. I don't mind being the one to do the pushing.

**8. August **

The first weekend of the month, Craig agrees to go out with me. For some reason, it makes me feel pretty happy. I dress up and Kyle lets me borrow his car since I don't have one of my own. When I go to pick up Craig, he immediately says, "This is just a onetime thing."

"Sure," I smile. He looks good. I mean it. He looks _really_ good. Edible.

"What?" he frowns, taking in my reaction.

"You look fine as fuck," I tell him. He has his thick, black hair combed nicely rather than stuck up in odd angles the way he usually leaves it these days. He's wearing a casual suit with a light blue shirt that definitely compliments the blue in his eyes.

"Idiot," he mutters.

"Take a compliment," I say. "You look hot."

He's flustered. "Whatever," he snaps. "Let's just go."

He's probably not used to attention. I doubt he gets the good kind these days. So, I keep my mouth shut. We listen to the radio on the ride to the restaurant and when we get there, we're seated in the farthest corner of the dim dining area. Craig's eyes rake up and down the menu for ten minutes until he decides he doesn't care, so I order him the same as me. When our dinner arrives, he picks at his food.

"Eat more," I tell him.

"I'm grazing," he insists.

I roll my eyes. "Seriously, Craig. You're so thin. I noticed it when I gave you a bath."

"Gave me a bath," he repeats with a grimace. "Don't say that."

"What?" I shrug. "It's true. I did give you a bath. I took off your clothes, washed your body, washed your hair and dried you off."

"Christ, you make me sound pathetic," he mutters. "I'm a grown-ass man for fuck's sake. I'm thirty."

"Who cares?" I drawl. "Everyone likes to be taken care of sometimes. We need it. I'm surprised you survived this long without human contact. Kyle visiting once a month doesn't count. You need to be a little more social, even if it scares you."

He scoffs at me, picking at the food on his plate with his fork before finally taking a bite. He chews slowly, as if he's self-conscious.

"When is the last time you slept with someone?" I ask him.

His eyes narrow. "Last year… why?"

"Who was it?" I wonder.

"I don't fucking remember his name," Craig mutters. "Why do you want to know?"

"I'm just curious," I say simply. "I want to know what you've been up to these past years."

"Idiot," he murmurs.

I just smile at him. "So, was the sex all right?"

"Yeah," Craig admits. "I think he was like fifteen years older than me… but he was nice. Probably because he didn't know who I was."

"Oh," I say.

I've decided that I want Craig to be happy. I know it's not _really_ my decision, but when I was still in prison I thought I'd be feeling angrier towards him. I'm not angry, though. I think I'm starting to move on, but he's still stuck in the past. I don't know if he'll ever truly recover. I suppose it would be difficult to get over murdering somebody… taking an innocent life. I can't begin to understand it.

I finish eating first. I make sure Craig has eaten a decent amount off his plate before paying the bill. I drive him home and walk him to his door, smiling. "So, am I gonna get the _grand tour_, or what?"

"Ha," he states flatly. "Nice try, but no."

"Oh, for shame," I sigh forlornly. Nonetheless, I cup his face in my hands and peck him on the lips.

**9. September **

Craig and I have been spending time together, but not in a romantic sense. I've asked him out again since our first date, but he said no. I've decided to give it some time.

I've been saving my money and working to get my own apartment. Today is my moving day. I'll be in the same building as Kyle, just on a different floor and a smaller thus cheaper room. It's a one bedroom and one bathroom apartment with a small kitchen and a small living room, but it's all I need. This is it. I'm thirty years old and I'm on my own for the first time in my life. It's scary. I'll probably run to Kyle when the first bill is due. I don't really understand how it works, but Kyle promised he'd teach me. The fact that I still don't know this stuff makes me feel too young… and just plain stupid – like white trash who just left the trailer park. But I guess it's not too far off the mark. I'm white trash who just got out of prison at the start of the year. I guess that's a hell of a lot worse than spending your life in a trailer park.

Kyle takes me shopping and I pick out a bed set and a kitchen table. I feel giddy to get it all arranged. It'll be pretty barren for a while, but I can look at it like a project. Eventually it'll get homier.

Kyle and Ike buy me a sofa set as a house warming gift and I get choked up. "Fuck, you guys are too good to me," I tell them. It's a maroon color that compliments the paint on the walls. I flop onto it and let out a long sigh. "Comfy," I murmur.

"Good," Ike chuckles.

"You deserve it, you know," Kyle adds.

I turn and smile at him. "Thanks," I say genuinely. "I mean it. Thanks for everything."

I don't know where I'd be if it wasn't for them.

**10. October **

"I got my own place," I tell Craig.

"Oh, how nice," he says airily as he stands in front of the stove. He's steeping tea. This is the first time I've seen him proactive in the kitchen all year. I'll take it as a good sign.

"You should come over," I say. "I mean, it's pretty empty… but I'm working on getting everything set up. I bought a book shelf yesterday. Now I just need to fill it."

Craig turns around. "I have some books you can have if you're looking for reading material."

"Are you sure?" I ask and he simply nods. "Hey," I start again, "Let's go out again."

"Why?" he asks.

"I want to," I say simply.

"Ever think that maybe I _don't_ want to?" he questions.

I smirk. "I know you _do_ want to, though."

"Oh, really?"

"Mhm," I nod.

"Wow, you'll awfully sure of yourself, Mr. McCormick."

"Come on," I urge, "Let's go to my house."

"Fine," he relents. "In a bit." He turns around, turning the stove off and pouring two cups of tea before sitting across from me. Silently, we drink and it tastes perfect.

Afterward, the two of us leave his place and head straight to mine. It's starting to get dark out and there are a group of kids loitering outside Craig's house. They look like they're up to no good. As soon as they spot him, they start shouting. One boy tosses an empty beer can. Craig doesn't react as it hits him.

"What the fuck?" I hiss.

"Happens a lot," he admits.

Shit like this pisses me off. "Hey!" I shout at them.

Craig places a hand on my shoulder. "Don't," he whispers. "They're just kids."

"Yeah," I scoff, "and kids should know their fucking place." I shake him off and approach the group of thirteen year olds. "Hey there," I smile sweetly at them.

"Whattaya want, old man?"

Old? Rude little bastards.

"I want you little assholes to stop harassing my buddy over there," I tell them, eliciting many responses for the band of idiot kids.

"And what if we don't wanna?" one asks.

"Yeah, he kills kids!" another exclaims.

I let out a little chuckle. "Let me tell you how this is gonna go…" I start gently. "I just got out of prison this year. I'm not mentally adjusted yet, but you see… when you're behind bars, people don't understand that you're not being rehabilitated. You're just learning how to be a better criminal. So if you kids keep fucking around with my buddy, I'll be forced to take action. I'll follow you home. You won't notice me trailing behind you. I'm pretty stealthy like that. When it gets dark and your parents go to bed, I'll come into your bedroom and then there will be two child murderers walking around South Park." When I finish, none of them say a word. I smile once more and ask, "Got it?"

A split second later, they scatter. I shake my head and turn around where Craig is standing.

"What did you say?" he asks, sidling up next to me.

"I just scared them a bit," I tell him as we begin to walk. "I think they'll fuck off."

"My hero," he says somewhat cynically. I just roll my eyes at him. "Christ," he continues, wrapping his arms around himself. "Were we really that awful when we were young?"

"I don't know," I admit. "Just try not to think about it, all right? We'll go to my place and I'll make us something to eat."

He looks somewhat humoured. "Gonna cook me dinner? Then what? Should I open my legs to say thank you?"

"Fuck off," I say lightly, nudging him. "That's my job," I add as a joke, though there's some semblance of truth to the statement.

He snorts. "Kenny McCormick, the kid who will blow you for something to eat."

"That's me!" I exclaim with facetious enthusiasm.

"I guess we both have pretty bad track records," he says.

"That's all right," I shrug.

Soon we arrive to the apartment building I live in. Craig stares at it, as if to ask a question. "Yeah," I say knowingly. "I'm in the same building as Kyle. I wanted to stay close."

Craig gives a long nod and the two of us enter and make our way to my room. Inside, I give Craig the tour, though there isn't much to show. "It's nice," he says. "In a minimalist kind of way."

I chuckle, rubbing the back of my head sheepishly. "Yeah, I need some, like, decorations and shit."

"I should take a lesson," Craig smiles slightly. "I have too much junk in my house. I find it hard to throw things away."

"That's kind of sad," I tell him. I've never been one to get attached to material items. It's probably just because I haven't owned many things in my life. In my house, people came and went – whether they were strangers, friends or family. People were always stealing shit. I had a laptop, thanks to a local charity project, but I kept it at Kyle's house growing up. That was the only way I knew it'd stay safe.

We wander into the kitchen. Craig sits down at the table and I ask, "What do you feel like having?"

"I'm not fussy," he says.

"Hm," I muse aloud for a moment. I know Craig doesn't have a big appetite. He's eaten half of what I've eaten every time we've been together. "How about a salad?"

"Sure," he says.

I grab an array of vegetables from the fridge and start chopping while offhandedly making conversation. When it gets quiet, I decide to be honest, even if it's not wanted or warranted. "I slept with Kyle," I say.

"Oh, cool. Me too," Craig says.

"Wait… what?" I deadpan, turning around to look at him.

"Just kidding," he chuckles.

I can't help but laugh. "Hell," I muse, shaking my head at him. Who knew Craig Tucker had it in him to joke around.

"So, how'd that end up happening?" he asks.

"I kind of thought it would've eventually happened if Eric didn't step into the picture when he did," I admit. "We danced around each other a lot when we were in our late teens and early twenties."

"If you're into Kyle," he starts, "Why the fuck are you here with me? Why aren't you cooking _him_ dinner?"

"I'm not into Kyle," I tell him genuinely. "I'm into you. That's why I'm being honest. Kyle is your friend, too, right?"

"Right," he says quietly.

"Does it bother you?" I pry.

He rolls his eyes and laughs at me. "No, Kenny. It doesn't bother me. How many of our friends have you caught me fucking when we were teenagers?"

"A few," I tell him.

He smiles lightly. "Yeah, a few."

"Funny," I mutter.

"What is?" he asks.

"I never thought it'd end with me and you," I say. "I used to fall in love all the fucking time when I was young, but I was never into you until you decided to completely fuck me over."

"Are you fucked in the head?" he murmurs the question.

"Yeah," I admit, "I mean… probably."

"Me, too," Craig says.

"Then let's just be fuck ups together for a little while," I tell him. "I think it's too late for quick fixes."

"Mm," he agrees. "Think we'll be okay?"

"Hell yeah," I promise. "I'll give you a key to my house and if any little asshole kids try to fuck with you, you can hang around here for a while, even if I'm not home."

"That's really decent of you," he murmurs.

"Ah, what can I say," I chuckle.

"I mean it, Kenny," he says. "Thank you."

"Hell, really, it's no problem." I smile, trying to let him know I'm not giving him things he _doesn't_ deserve. I'm giving him things he _does_ deserve.

I finally finish the salad and we eat silently. Craig's appetite is modest as ever. Afterward, he offers to help me clean up. I tell him not to worry about it.

**11. November**

It's been rainy and miserable out all day.

I ended up giving Craig one of my spare keys at the end of last month. Tonight, I find him in my bed when I get off work. All I see is a head of black hair peeking out from the duvet. He's sleeping and I don't want to wake him, so I change quickly into sweatpants, slip out of my room and make myself something light to eat.

A short while later I'm in the living room channel surfing when a voice asks –

"You're back?"

I turn my head and spot Craig standing in the doorway. He's not wearing anything and my throat goes dry at the sight. "Uh, hey…" I greet him hoarsely.

He smiles wide and I can see the dimples on his cheeks, but there's concealed anger. "It was rainy, so I took my clothes off," he explains. "You weren't here… so I slept to pass time."

"Want to borrow something?" I offer.

He steps into the room and slowly approaches me where I'm seated. "No, it's okay." He sits down next to me and stares ahead at the television.

"Craig?" I say his name. "What's wrong?"

He chews on his bottom lip for a minute before answering me. "You wanna fuck me, right? That's what this is. That's why you're acting sincere. When it's over, you'll stop."

"What…?" I ask, frowning. I don't really know where this is coming from.

"Do it," he says, still refusing to meet my eyes. His body is rigid and I can tell how uncomfortable he is right now. He thinks I'm playing mind games with him, but I'm not. I want him. I'm not going to toss him aside after fucking him. I'm not doing this out of some sick sort of revenge. I'm not that kind of person. Nonetheless, I know whatever I say will be a futile effort. He's in a daze.

"Craig, for fuck's sake, put something on," I murmur, averting my eyes.

"Why won't you look at me?" he asks tersely.

"I could ask you the same thing," I mention. He lets out a laugh followed by a sob and I'm still afraid to look at him. "Why are you crying?" I question weakly, unable to bring myself to sound stronger.

"I fucking _hate_ myself!" he shouts.

I frown, staring down at the floor. It makes me think of a story Kyle once told me when we were teenagers. When his mom was young, one of her neighbours hit a little girl who ran out into the road. Though it wasn't his fault, he never recovered. Some people don't have the heart for murder and when it's forced on them, they break and nothing is ever okay again. I think this is what happened to Craig and I can't even hope to fix it. That's just it. You can't fix people.

"I'm sorry," is all I offer. I raise a hand and touch his back, rubbing circles around it. He's soft, but I know it would be a mistake to touch him in any other way at a time like this. A moment later, I stand up and leave the room, grabbing a blanket from the linen closet in the hallway before returning. I place it around Craig's shoulders, making him modest. He has his face buried in his hands and his shoulders are shaking. I want him to stop because it's upsetting me, but I wouldn't dare say it. He needs to let it out. I know that. He's been bottling it since he was a teenager. Too much has happened. It started with me and Craig and it's ending with me and Craig. I guess this is how it was meant to be.

"I want to die," he says hoarsely.

"No, you don't," I murmur softly.

"Why is that?" he wonders, silently telling me I'm right.

"Death is hard," I offer. "It's scary and painful. Y'know, I don't think people are really scared of dying, but what comes after. Who will be there on the other side waiting for them? Nothingness? God? The devil? Who the fuck knows…? Trust me, you don't want to find out. Personally, I want to live a good long life. You should shoot for that, too. You're allowed to forgive yourself, Craig. You did something bad, yeah, but you're remorseful. You can't keep punishing yourself. It was a mistake, right? When you forgive yourself, you'll be all right… but only when you forgive yourself, not before that."

He wipes his eyes. "You don't get it, though…" he mutters. "I killed a _kid_. I killed a little boy… He was only ten years old. He was so fucking tiny. I should've known I would hurt him. I should've been more patient."

"It's too late for what-ifs," I say quietly.

He lets out a breath, wiping his eyes again but the tears don't stop. "His parents never forgave me. I can't forgive myself for something I did to another person."

"Sometimes you need to," I offer. "It's all you can do."

He only shakes his head at me.

"I'm not going to hurt you," I tell him, "even if you beg me to."

He laughs bitterly. "I can find somebody else, then."

"It hurts more when it's someone you care about, though." And I know this is exactly what he has in mind.

"Yeah," he says weakly.

I stand up and reach my arms under his knees and behind his back, picking Craig up bridal style – blanket and all. He doesn't protest. He just lies limp in my arms. I take him to my dark room and place him in my bed before getting in with him.

"You're too nice," he accuses.

"No such thing," I tell him.

"Liar," he murmurs.

"Go to bed," I say.

"Things won't be any different in the morning," he sighs.

"Sh," I hush him. I shift closer to him, playing the part of the big spoon. I wrap my arms around him and pull him close. I think it'll be okay to touch him like this. We'll take things slow.

**12. December **

I fuck him on Christmas Eve, since neither of us is in the mood for celebration. I think he still wants me to hurt him, but I'm not going to. I want him to realize he doesn't need to be punished. It's been happening for far too long. Really. Far too fucking long.

I think I love Craig. I fall in love so often. It's finally happened again. It's almost a relief. I haven't been in love in a long time. I'm glad prison didn't take away my capability of feeling the best emotions.

I think humans need other humans. No one wants to be alone forever, even if they try to say they do. I think they're just lying. It's so easy to lie to people. It's too easy… but it's so much harder to lie to yourself. It's something I've never really been able to do.

Later in the night, Craig is lying next to me. He's quiet, but I know he's still awake. "Hey…" I murmur.

"Hm?" comes his voice.

"I love you," I tell him.

"Cool," he says.

I nudge him lightly, trying to stifle a laugh. "It's fine, you don't have to say it back."

"As long as you know how I feel, it doesn't matter, does it?" he asks.

"Exactly," I say.

"But for the record, I do," he adds.

"I know," I smile.

"Someday I'll tell you why."

"Me, too," I promise.

I feel it. I feel so much. I feel things I thought I had forgotten how to feel. That little thing called love. Funny how it all worked out.

Love keeps you alive. I firmly believe that.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**Epilogue: One year later **

Craig moved in with me a few months ago and my house no longer feels empty. With him here, my house feels more like a home.

He still doesn't get out, but I've stopped trying to convince him of things he refuses to believe. I just leave him be. He seems more content this way. He gets angry when I try to get him to leave the house too often and he gets angry when I insist the things that happened aren't solely his fault. So he sits at home and he types away on his laptop. He'd continue to waste away if it wasn't for me, but I make sure he eats. I make sure he takes care of himself. In a way, I guess I'm taking care of him, but I don't mind. Really. Kyle would probably insist it's not healthy, but he doesn't have the best track record either so he keeps his mouth shut when it comes to me and Craig. At least he's not alone. There's nothing worse than being alone.

I still see Kyle frequently and he'll still be wearing that same smile. I don't think he'll ever love again, but he's slowly beginning to move on from what happened to him when he was twenty-three years old. It took a damn long time, but then again, these things always take time. Sometimes I wonder if something changed, but I wouldn't dare ask.

Around 9PM, Craig tells me he's going to bed. He sleeps early and wakes up late. I don't know how he does it. Since I have nothing else to do, this time I follow him to bed. We brush our teeth, wash our faces and get undressed before burrowing beneath the covers. The room is dark and the curtains are heavy, allowing very little moonlight inside.

"I love you," I tell him, reaching for him and pulling him close.

"Yeah," is all he says. I don't mind that he never says it back.

"I love you," I tell him again.

"Yeah," he repeats himself.

"I love you," I say for a third time. He might think I say it too much, but I'm the type of person who needs to let these kind of feelings out. I need to let everything out. Besides, he deserves to hear it. I want him to hear it. I want him to know.

"Why?" he asks in a wondering tone. It's the first time he's questioned it.

"You make me feel alive," I tell him. "I was in prison for seven years and I thought I'd be a mess when I got out. I thought that being locked away for so fucking long would have caused me to lose the ability to feel certain things or maybe fear certain things, but you showed me that wasn't true. I can still feel good things and I'm not afraid. I can still fall in love. You've… rejuvenated me, in a way."

"Oh," he says softly. "Do you want to know why I love you?"

"Yeah, if you want to tell me."

"I told you I would," he mentions. "I told you that someday I would tell you."

"Okay," I say.

"I don't feel dead anymore," he murmurs. "I think I would have been content with dying. I mean, I never would've killed myself… but if something were to happen to me, I probably would've have cared. I would have let it… but then you came along. That changed. I changed. You might not notice it, but I don't feel as numb. In a way, you've rejuvenated me as well."

I smile, even though he can't see it. I tighten my hold around him and say, "I'm glad… really, I'm glad."

Things change, people change and life goes on, but sometimes I feel like I'm dreaming. I feel like any second I might wake up and realize it's still just my first night in prison. But it's not. It's over and I'm allowed to be this happy.

**-fin-**


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